Six-guns & Sorcery: Wolfe & Hawke
by Contramancer
Summary: Response to a whitetigerwolf challenge. After a disaster at the DoM, Harry & Hermione are sent through the Veil by Umbridge. On the other side, they find not mere death, but Judgement. Sent back to the Wild West, they have to get home the hard way. Their troubles have only begun... H/Hr.
1. Chapter 1

_**Six-guns and Sorcery: Wolfe and Hawke.**_

**Disclaimer:**_ As the author, I do not own any part of Harry Potter, the world he was written in or the characters therein. All these belong to J. , and I'm just using them to tell a story. The challenge that inspired this story belongs to Whitetigerwolf. Thanks, my friend._

**BOUNTY HUNTER CHALLENGE**

I've finally figured out a western Harry Potter Challenge. So here it is.

Requirements:

- Harry/Hermione.

- Harry and Hermione must both be expelled from Hogwarts before Voldemorts defeat.

- Knowing that they're both in danger (Harry because obviously Voldemort won't leave him alone, Hermione by association), They either figure out how to go back in time themselves, or get help from someone else, to travel back in time for a set period of time.

- Harry and Hermione must go to the Old American West and spend at least five years of thier life as bounty hunters before returning to the present.

- Harry and Hermione must favor different weapons.

- Harry and Hermione cannot (legally at least) perform wanded magic immediately when they return, and not at all in the past. Occlumency, Legillimancy, animagus, and any other magic that does not require a wand is okay though.

Recommended:

- FemHarry/FemSlash.

- Wolf and Hawk animagus for Harry and Hermione (Wolf can track by scent and Hawk can fly ahead and see enemies positions from above before reporting back).

- Decade in past.

* * *

_**Prologue:**_

_There is a legend from the American West, of two strangers who came from nowhere and started setting the world to rights. In a time when Justice all too frequently favored the quickest draw, the most ruthless aim, they brought true meaning to the word again. Then one day, they were gone, after so many years, leaving behind an old book and a safer town, vanished like dust on the wind..._

The Hogwarts Express rattled through the valley, barreling northwards at quite a respectable pace. It was watched by two riders on a hill overlooking the tracks, tracks that most people couldn't see. The man reached into his pocket, lifting out an old pocket watch from his battered leather duster. "Right on time," he said to his companion. "Are you sure this is how you want to do it?" As he returned the watch to its pocket inside the duster, a stray sunbeam glinted off his glasses, beneath the brim of his wide hat.

From her place, seated firmly in the saddle of a horse much like his own, a horse made of silver fire , happy memories and hard earned hope, she nodded. "It's time we showed them just who we are, love. Let's ride."

The students on the train certainly weren't expecting the spectacle that awaited them, as the two strangers dressed in the style of the Wild West tv shows and movies that some of the muggleborns were familiar with charged towards the train on horses of silver flame. As they matched the Express' speed and rhythm, they galloped faster, racing along the side of the train as it rumbled towards Hogwarts. All up and down the train, the young witches and wizards pressed themselves against the windows, or leaned out of them, striving for a better view as the strangers pounded past them. As they pulled even with the locomotive, the man sprang from his saddle with a well-practiced leap, catching the struts on the outside for extra support he didn't need. The woman drew up her legs and leaped from her saddle to land beside him. Where his jump had possessed a predatory feel, hers was more of someone _allowing_ gravity to suggest she might like to land _here_, if it wasn't too much trouble. From there they moved into the first carriage.

Even here, in the prefects' car, people waited. The Heads, both boy and girl, stood waiting for the strangers as they entered. For the first time in the entire history of Hogwarts, they were sixth year students. It wasn't too surprising, considering the current Headmistress. Professor Umbridge herself was here also, propping up the little respect anybody gave Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. The only other people present were the Slytherin prefects. There were no other prefects. They'd all either handed in or been stripped of their positions last year. Fortunately, that was as far as reprisals went, and that only due to all the teachers except Severus Snape threatening to walk out if the students were further victimized. And Umbridge still couldn't get into the Headmaster's suite.

The door at the head of the train opened, and the people inside raised their wands, pointing them at the door, when a small red stick with a hissing spark dancing at one end sailed into the compartment. It rolled to a stop in the middle of the room, and everyone's eyes were drawn to it. The spark disappeared inside the stick, and with a loud pop and a puff of smoke, it vanished, leaving behind a scrap of parchment on which was printed "I am a Distraction".

The lone student in the car who was _not _a prefect, and was in fact being questioned with Veritaserum over her father's whereabouts, although they were unsure of the potion's efficacy on her, pointed. "Ooh, look," Luna Lovegood said, "a distraction."

She giggled as, having had every Slytherin, and the 'Headmonstress' as most of the students called Umbridge behind her back, or Luna herself did to her face, first looked at her when she spoke, then back at the 'distraction' when she announced what it was. Except for her, no-one noticed the entrance of the strangers for a few moments.

Both strangers had weapons out as they moved smoothly into the room, and the crack of gunfire barked out, a rapid beat that filled the room as the two of them shot at everyone in green and silver trim. The woman's duster flared out behind her as she swirled through the confusion, firing her rifle from the hip. The man, on the other hand, moved with speed and precision, staying low and letting his two six-guns, cowboy style revolvers, hammer out his response. His companion stayed high, spring across the backs of the seats that were bolted to the floor. Their guns spat shot after shot of crimson light, which their targets didn't realize were Stunners until too late, as they fired too quickly for their targets to say more than "_Pro-_" before joining the growing ranks of the unconscious. That quickly there was only one left, Umbridge herself, her wand pointed not at the intruders, but held under Luna's chin. She drew herself straight as the two holstered their weapons, mentally running over their blatant disregard for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Act.

It surprised her when the two ignored her, and she found it hard to measure their mood and Attitude behind the darkened glasses they wore beneath their wide brimmed, battered felt hats. Their entire wardrobe looked as though they'd walked out of a western, and a good western at that. The man took a rolled-up parchment from his pocket and scrutinized it as the toad-like woman spoke.

Or started to, as the woman of the two overran her. "So, Wolfe, that's the one we're after?"

"Ayup," her male companion answered. "For Kidnapping, Torture, Criminal Negligence, Illegal Use of Controlled Substances, and Abuse of Power, Dolores Jane Umbridge, wanted. Reward from Concerned citizen, Xenophilius Keeping Lovegood to be 100 Galleons." Wolfe grinned. "At least this one didn't try to throw in his daughter's hand in marriage, Hawke."

Umbridge spoke firmly, and with authority. Or at least, she believed she did. Her voice actually sounded like a really annoyed chipmunk. "You two, you will surrender your wands at once, and tell the Aurors there was no-one else here!"

'Wolfe' looked at the woman as he drew one of his sixguns. Now that it was moving slower, it was obviously custom made, from some kind of golden metal with the same sheen as high quality steel... Orichalcum! But only dwarves knew how to work that, and there weren't any dwarves in Europe who could. Not to mention that the magically-conductive metal itself was worth a literal fortune: a teaspoon crafted from truegold would fetch _at least_ ten thousand Galleons... and these two had weapons made from the only metal that could be used in a wand!

"Nope," he said, as the other hand removed his hat, revealing the lightning bolt scar on his right brow. "_I must not tell lies_, Madam Umbridge."

"No," she hissed in a low, unbelieving voice, "You're dead..." Realizing exactly who the man and his companion must be was not pleasant. "Potter... Granger... I put you through the veil myself..." The pink-clad toad-woman passed out.

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Doorway to Judgement.**_

After he'd lifted the prophecy orb from its resting place, it all went wrong. Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters showed up and things got very bad. While they attempted to escape, Harry, Hemione and Neville tried to hide, to buy time to plan, and two Death Eaters barged through the door before the bushy-haired witch could seal it. She quickly silenced the one nearest Harry after Neville was thrown over a desk by their spells, and Harry petrified the other. As Hermione turned to praise him, the silenced wizard slashed his wand diagonally, trailing a purple streak of fire that lashed out across Hermione's chest.

Harry's scream was painful to hear, it was a wordless cry of despair, the kind of despair a man will give as his heart, his soul, his very reason to exist is torn from him. As his mouth modulated the scream, his mind flashed back over every single second he'd spent with her, from the moment they'd met on the train, all the way to the moment she'd followed him through the door of this very room, always there, always for him. The instance after the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament was particularly vivid, as he realized that despite yelling at Ron, _she'd been talking to him_. His hesitation in the second task, torn between rescuing her or Ron, before Krum came and took the choice from his hands. "HERMIONE!"

He wasn't hearing anything but the blood hammering in his ears as he turned. Vaguely, he was aware of the Death Eater, now revealed to be Dolohov, demanding the prophecy, of someone replying defiantly. Was that his own voice? He was aware of Neville's exhortation, telling him to keep the prophecy away from Dolohov, but nothing mattered anymore...

* * *

_**Fate looked across the gameboard of mortal existence at Destiny, smirking. There were two ways this could go, he knew. In one direction, the Dark Lord triumphed, dominating the mortal realms for an age, while in the other, the champion that Destiny had set forth sacrificed everything, including his own life and happiness with the woman he was meant for, to defeat the vile creature that the mortal Riddle had made himself. Either way, he won. Dark Fate or Bright Destiny, in neither case would the hero truly win. Then she showed up, clad in red, with emerald eyes. No-one named her, no-one needed to. She was unpredictable at the best of times. She was the essence of Luck itself, of Fortune, fair or foul, and she glanced at the game between them, and smiled. "Deal me in."**_

* * *

Harry threw the orb, with all the force he could muster, past Dolohov, whose eyes turned to follow its flight. As Harry raise his wand behind the Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy appeared in the doorway just in time to receive the ballistic prophecy directly to his face. As it shattered, he was the only one close enough to hear it, but having been knocked out cold by the impact to his forehead, there was no way he'd ever know that. Dolohov, seeing the fate of the precious prophecy, and recalling exactly how his Lord rewarded failure, turned to the Potter brat, raising his wand, and realized that Harry Potter was ahead of him, with his wand unwaveringly aimed at the older wizard's chest. His eyes widened as Harry finished his incantation: "Reducto."

Neville's face paled as the Death Eater's heart exploded, and Harry turned back to Hermione, falling to his knees beside her, tears falling freely as he did. His best friend, the girl who'd been beside him in his happiest moments, who'd actually been the cause of them if he was honest with himself, was dying, he knew it, although he vaguely heard Neville's voice mentioning a pulse. Not knowing what to do, not caring what was happening, he only knew he wanted her to live, to be whole and well, and beside him for the rest of his life. Wanting it with everything there was of him, he screamed again, this time as his magic surged from him into the brunette lying before him, an explosion of magical energy that tore through the ministry, setting off every magical alarm and destroying every ward it hit. Blackness claimed him, and the last thing he knew for a time was of taking Hermione's body in his arms, and feeling her arms close around him.

* * *

He awoke, still in Hermione's arms, but someone had placed magic-dampening restraints on them. They were seated in front of a stone archway from which hung a tattered grey cloth, a veil. Around them were adults, wizards and witches from the ministry, they guessed, but several of the people there were Death Eaters that they recognized. As Harry tried to yell, he became aware that he'd been silenced, and the look on Hermione's face showed that she'd realized the same thing about herself. Among the faces surrounding the two teenagers were those of Lucius Malfoy, an evil smirk upon his countenance, and Dolores Umbridge, apparently escaped from the centaurs and returned to power. Then Minister Fudge stepped forwards and spoke.

"Of their crimes, including the murder of a concerned pure-blood citizen, breaking and entering, destruction of Ministry property, attempted murder, both of concerned citizens and Ministry personnel, and for the charge of High Treason, we are forced to find Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Granger guilty as charged. As minors, they will not be forced to suffer the Dementors' Kiss, but shall instead receive the mercy of the Veil. Before they receive aforesaid sentence, their wands are to be snapped."

Umbridge took great delight in both destroying their wands, and in the banishing spell that forced the two teenage magicals, who she'd felt to be the bane of her existence, into the veil.

* * *

Harry sat up. His restraints had vanished, but so too had his clothes. A soft groan from beside him drew his attention to Hermione, who was in a similar state. This somehow didn't seem to be a bother to him, and as she opened her eyes and looked into his own, it seemed she felt the same. They were unsure how long they sat there, looking into each other's eyes, their very souls, but an eternity would not have been long enough.

Eventually, they became aware of a whimpering sound. They were not as alone as they first thought, and that suddenly, they wore their Hogwarts robes, although the crest, rather than the gold lion on a red field of Gryffindor, was a black wolf couched on a white field below a white hawk, wings spread, on a black field. They stood carefully, and, holding each other as though they were the most precious thing in all of creation, moved forward trying to locate the source of the noise.

It was a tiny thing, vaguely human-like in shape, but smaller, barely the size of a pixie. The disturbing thing about it wasn't the size, though, but the almost flayed look to its raw skin, which oozed something black and viscous. As it lay there and whimpered, they took a step back, disgusted, but wondering if they could help it, end its suffering somehow.

YOU CAN'T HELP IT, I'M SORRY. Both Harry and Hermione sprang backwards, looking in the direction that the 'voice' had come from. They were confronted by a tall black-robed figure with a scythe. HELLO, it said. I'M DEATH. PLEASURE TO MEET YOU.

Death had a raven sitting on his shoulder, and a pale horse stood behind him. In the distance, the teenagers could see a number of horsemen waiting patiently, although the one on the red horse kept looking at his pocket watch. The Grim Reaper crouched, and looked at the flayed thing.

I DON'T KNOW WHY ANYONE THINKS THIS IS A GOOD IDEA, it said, for given values of said, as the words just seemed to appear in their minds. I MEAN, LOOK AT WHAT IT DOES TO YOU. MAYBE IT DOES SHIELD YOU FROM, WELL, ME, BUT IT KIND OF RUINS YOUR NEXT ADVENTURE, DOESN'T IT? CAN'T HAVE PEOPLE SHOWING UP PIECEMEAL, IT'S DREADFULLY UNTIDY. Death, it seemed, was definitely British. He (they had a hard time picturing the anthropomorphic personification of life's ending as anything else) then turned to the pair of teenagers. ANOTHER TWO OF YOU, EH? he said. WHAT DID YOUNGSTERS LIKE YOU DO TO DESERVE BEING PUSHED INTO A JUDGEMENT GATE? TAKE YOUR TIME, WE QUITE LIKE A GOOD STORY, AND WAR OVER THERE HAS SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE HE RIDES.

That was all it took for them to pour out their story. Once done, the Reaper grinned. Then again, he was always grinning, but that wasn't exactly his fault. OKAY, I SEE HOW IT'S GOING. NOW, I CAN'T INTERFERE OVERLY IN YOUR WORLD, BUT SINCE THEY PUSHED YOU THROUGH A JUDGEMENT GATE, I CAN DO A FEW THINGS FOR YOU. FIRST, I CAN SEND YOU BACK, BUT THEN IT GETS TRICKY. I CAN'T SEND YOU BACK TO ANY POINT THAT YOU WERE ALIVE. THIS MEANS ANY TIME FROM ABOUT SIX MINUTES AFTER YOU DIED, TO NINE MONTHS OR SO BEFORE YOU WERE BORN. As he said that, Hermione spoke.

"Why such a difference," she asked. "I can understand the whole six minutes after thing but why..." She trailed off as the Reaper gave her a... significant look, and blushed. "Never mind."

Death chuckled, a chilling sound at any time. IF I DO SEND YOU BACK, AND YOU WANT TO SAVE YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY FROM THE REST OF THIS ONE, here he gestured to the flayed pixie-thing, YOU NEED TIME TO TRAIN YOURSELVES. MY ADVICE IS THAT I GIVE YOU PLENTY OF, LET'S CALL IT LEAD TIME. I'LL SEND YOU BACK TO... SAY THE 1890s OR THEREABOUTS. BUT ONCE YOU'RE THERE, I CAN'T BRING YOU 'HOME' AGAIN. YOU'LL HAVE TO GET BACK THE HARD WAY.

"Wait," Harry replied, "even I can see the flaw in that. By the time we get back, we'll be uselessly old, over a hundred." Hermione nodded.

"I don't think that's a good plan, unless we can counteract the aging problem," she agreed. "I suppose there are other methods, like a Philosopher's Stone, but it takes decades of focused effort to make one, and we wouldn't even know where to start."

The Reaper hummed in thought. I CAN'T TELL YOU WHAT HELP AWAITS YOU IN THAT TIME, NOR WHAT OTHERS HAVE CHOSEN OR THE DEALS THEY'VE MADE. I CAN OFFER THIS. IF YOU CAN FETCH ME THE REST OF THIS THING, I WON'T LET AGE TOUCH YOU UNTIL YOU CATCH UP TO YOUR ADULT AGES CHRONOLOGICALLY, ALRIGHT? YOU'LL MATURE TO ABOUT TWENTY-ONE YEARS OF AGE, THEN FREEZE THAT WAY UNTIL ABOUT 2001. DOES THAT SOUND GOOD?

The teenagers, left little choice, agreed. There was a white light, and they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__ As the author, I do not own any part of Harry Potter, the world he was written in or the characters therein. All these belong to J. , and I'm just using them to tell a story. The challenge that inspired this story belongs to Whitetigerwolf. Thanks, my friend._

_**Chapter 2: Road to Liberty.**_

_**Fate and Destiny stared at the gameboard of mortal existence between them. What had once been a simple three dimensional sphere had grown distinctly abstract as Time was twisted out of shape. One section in particular seemed to be a four dimensional moebius strip. As one they turned and glared at the third player. "Oops," Lady Luck said, insincerely.**__** "**__**Must have rolled a seven."**_

_**Destiny raised one of the dice and carefully counted the **_**six********_sides, each properly marked. "I shouldn't be objecting, I suppose, but aren't we going to at least _****try********_to be fair?"_**

_**Luck shrugged. "Texan proverb: If you ain't cheatin', you ain't tryin'."**_

Harry sat up, and looked around at the blackened earth of the crater he and Hermione sat at the bottom of. It was ten feet deep where they were, and sloped gently up to the nearest edge, twenty feet away. He quickly looked himself over, somewhat glad that he was wearing clothes this time, then checked Hermione. They were both wearing what amounted to cowboy-style outfits, pants and shirt, with a wide-brimmed hat and boots. The boots were perhaps the most unusual as they were dragon-hide. Beneath them, cushioning them against the ground, were two leather dusters. The leather felt a lot like their boots did.

He reached down, and hesitated for a moment before laying his hand on Hermione's shoulder and gently shaking her, ignoring her protests of "Five more minutes, mum, I'm dreaming about Harry...", although they did make him pause for a few seconds.

Leaning close to her ear, he whispered. "Stop dreaming, Hermione, I'm right here."

The squeak as a highly embarrassed young woman popped up was almost as entertaining as one of the Weasley twins' pranks, although Harry wasn't in much of a position to appreciate it, as her rapidly rising head caught his nose. Fortunately, it wasn't broken, or even bloodied, as Harry's Seeker-honed reflexes had him pulling clear of her for the most part, but even clipping the nose on her way to full wakefulness was... distracting, and painfully so. Biting off swear words before they could escape his mouth, Harry promised himself he wasn't doing _that_ again in a hurry.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry..." Hermione's horror-filled apology cut off when her emerald-eyed friend put one finger across her lips, which started to tingle pleasantly where he touched them. To distract herself from the accompanying rush in her emotions, she began looking around them.

"No need to apologise, it was my fault for getting too close," Harry said. "Now, where do you think we are? The 1890s sometime of course, but I can't narrow it down further than that." Staring up at the bright blue cloudless sky, and taking in the heat they both felt, he was fairly sure they weren't in England any more. As the two teenagers climbed from the crater, they were certain of it. Wide, open prairie spread out around them, miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles, as Harry put it in a half-joking tone of voice.

Hermione was muttering as she began to take their bearings. "Sun's there, this is the northern hemisphere, open prairie with few trees, mountains over there, let me see..."

Although it delighted Harry to see how his best friend was going about figuring out where they were, Harry felt he had to interrupt. "Hermione..."

"Not now, Harry, I've nearly got it, I might know where we are," she said, a look of fierce concentration on her face.

"We're in America, the Old West, probably Arizona," he said.

"What? How could you know that?" She asked incredulously. She stared at Harry, who was looking past her. As he took her shoulders and gently turned her around, she saw a rail road in the distance, with what looked to be buffalo (bison, her mind corrected her absently) between them and it, and what looked to be a cowboy walking towards them. He had red hair, like the Weasleys, a bright red shirt and blue denims, with tanned leather chaps. He wore a six-gun on his right hip, and a lariat dangled from the left. On his head was a wide-brimmed hat, much like their own. "Okay, Harry, you win, we're in the Wild West."

"Howdy, strangers," called the cowboy. "Ah'm a mite bit curious where you're from. Name's Bill, Billy Prewett. Whut brings y'all way out here?"

"Uh, sorry, Bill, we're a bit lost," said Harry. Sharing a glance with Hermione which as much as asked out loud "_Should we tell him our real names?_", and receiving a barely perceptible head-shake, he went on. "We're from England, had to move out here, and not used to all this." Here he waved his hand at the surrounding country side, buying himself time as he thought fast. "We don't even know exactly where here is, or which way it is to the nearest town. I'm Wolfe by the way, Harrison Wolfe. This is Maia Hawke." He was inspired in his choice of names by the crests on the robes they'd worn when talking to Death. "We'd be very grateful if you could help us out."

Bill scratched his chin. "You're in Texas, Wolfe. That way lies Arizona, that way's Nevada, and if you go thataway long enough, y'all will find California. The nearest town's Liberty Springs, jest follow the train tracks and you'll get there. Oh, and look me up if'n you're ever down Pecos way, alright?" Satisfied that he'd helped out all he could, Bill whistled up his horse and rode away, with a shouted "Gwan, Tornado, gidjap!"

Hermione froze on the spot. "Harry," she whimpered.

"Yes?" Harry was very wary of Hermione like this. She could do anything.

"I know who that man was." The statement was flat. "Obviously he's related to Molly Weasley somehow, but more: We were just talking to Pecos Bill! He was an American wizard who kept ignoring the Statute of Secrecy, claiming it got in the way of helping people. The only reason he got away with it was the way people talked about him sounded like a tall tale."

"Huh," Harry grunted. "I take you read about him somewhere?"

"Yes, of course I did, and I can hardly wait to..." Her voice trailed off as she went white as a sheet. A very white sheet, too. "Oh, no Harry, it's a disaster!" She latched onto her raven-haired friend, holding him tight as she started crying.

Harry was nearly panicking himself. "What? What's wrong, Maia?"

Although she loved the new name he'd saddled her with, she wasn't calming down. "There's no libraries!" With that she dissolved into tears.

It was a long hike along the tracks as the two of them walked, and as they did, Hermione told Harry what had happened after she woke up and he'd passed out. How the inner circle of Voldemort's Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord himself had shown up, and just as everything was darkest, the Order of the Phoenix had arrived, and a huge battle had ensued. During the fight, Sirius had been blasted through the Veil, the very same one as Umbridge had put them through, which had Harry worried for a moment, until he realized that Sirius might still be alive, and possibly here! But the worst had happened, and Voldemort had incapacitated Dumbledore by flinging curses at bystanders, and striking while the former Headmaster of Hogwarts was protecting them. On discovering the prophecy had been destroyed, the Death Eaters had shed their robes and silenced their prisoners, as their Lord made his exit. _Then _the Aurors had arrived, accompanied by anyone else who thought they were of importance. Neville had managed to get Ginny and Luna out, and Ron was still affected by the brains. A bitter Hermione had snarled about it being the only time she thought he had any. At the 'trial', Ron had put it all on him, the still unconscious Harry Potter, and was released, for his 'honesty', into his brother Percy's custody. As he'd passed the two of them he'd muttered "No sense all of us going down, is there?" before being ushered from the courtroom. At the point where the defendants were asked if they had anything to say in their defence, she'd found she'd been silenced. The rest was history, if you could call something that wouldn't happen for a hundred years history.

"We need to change the way things are done, don't we?" Harry asked, not really needing an answer. "The only Death Eater that was really stopped was Dolohov. All of the others, no matter what we did, were just brought back into the fight by their friends. They weren't fighting by the same rules, and I almost lost you."

"Harry, are you suggesting we stoop to their level?" she spoke softly, worried. If Harry went Dark, strong as he was, the world would be in trouble... not least because she _knew_ she'd go there with him...

"No," he replied after a few minutes of silence. "Not at all. But it's obvious that Professor Dumbledore's rules didn't work. What happened to him, anyway?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. "He was Kissed, Harry. He's gone... will be gone... ooh, I hate time travel!"

Harry dropped his head, acknowledging the grief he felt at the loss of one who was almost like a grandfather to him. "And we can't change that when we get back, either. Anyone who died has to stay dead. My parents, Dumbledore, even Sirius... Wait, Sirius! He went through the veil! He might still be alive somewhere... when... ooh, I know what you mean about Time Travel."

The two continued walking, following the tracks, buoyed up by a faint, against-all-the-odds hope that they might not be alone, towards the town they could just make out in the distance.

As the strangers came down the street from close by the station, they were watched, closer than they might have suspected, and a boy from the stables had made a dash to the Sheriff's at the other end of the street. Partly winded, he gasped out the news.

"Two strangers, Sheriff, came in along the tracks," he panted. "Guy and a girl, not too much older'n me, look yonder an' you'll see 'em."

The sheriff gazed in the direction the boy had indicated, and sure enough, he saw them. It felt for a moment like he'd been kicked in the chest, hard. What had _happened_ back there, that these two would be here and now? As the two stopped by the saloon, grabbing water from horse trough out front of the place, the sheriff started walking. "You did well, Mark," he told the stable-boy, flicking a silver dollar in the lad's direction, "now you run off and tell Old Sam to get the chest I left with him, okay. Tell him the sheriff's up to no good, and to bring it to Gallows' Saloon."

As Mark ran to do the sheriff's bidding, motivated by a whole dollar, the sheriff paced up the street as the two strangers splashed down their faces and straightened. The boy, with black messy hair and emerald eyes, and the girl, with eyes of a warm brown and the bushiest mane of hair he'd ever seen, registered his approach and turned, their eyes widening. Even from twenty feet away, he could hear the whispered words that escaped his godson.

"Sirius, I knew it, you _are _alive..."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**__ As the author, I do not own any part of Harry Potter, the world he was written in or the characters therein. All these belong to J. , and I'm just using them to tell a story. The challenge that inspired this story belongs to Whitetigerwolf. Thanks, my friend. I also don't own any references to songs, characters or references involved in the Wild West genre._

_**A/N:**__ Don't bother looking anywhere for Liberty Springs, as I'm fairly sure it only exists in the hidden corners of my imagination. I could be wrong, though. Have been before, will be again._

_**Chapter 3: The Path to Tomorrow.**_

_**Fate frowned at the gameboard that was reality. Even as he watched it branched and twisted in on itself. "How did **_**he****_ get then?" he wondered. As one he and Destiny turned to the Lady, who seemed genuinely surprised._**

_**"**__**Don't look at me, he's not mine," she said, ignoring the looks they wore which suggested her word might possibly be trusted as far as an ant could spit a pig. Sighing she pointed at the new piece on the board. "I think he's connected to that one. An Old Soul, huh? How long has it been since one of those came into play?"**_

_**Destiny looked closer. "My bad, sorry, she's one of mine," he said, sheepishly. "Completely slipped my mind, she's not supposed to wake up yet."**_

_**Fate looked down at the die before them. "Double six. On one die. And it was my roll. That's blown the whole game. Now what?"**_

_**The Lady sighed. "What else, Fate? We grab some popcorn and see what's going to happen next. Still, that's what you get for making **_**my****_ son a piece in your game."_**

_**The anthropomorphic personifications of predestination swallowed. Chance and free will allowed mortals to trump their moves every time. They'd thought to get in a game while the Lady had been distracted by the obligatory mortal lifetime that all gods and powers had to partake of once every thousand years. But then the Lady's mortal self died while they played...**_

_**Destiny smiled. At least he'd been trying to give the boy a happily ever after. "Do you have any of that caramel-flavoured stuff?"**_

* * *

The saloon went silent as the swinging doors parted, with all those in the bar-room turning their attention to the two strangers as they approached one of the tables. As Sheriff Black entered, the barkeep nodded, pointing to the man at the piano, a man resembling a less-hairy orangutan called Fast Eddie.

"These two are friends of mine from back in England, so if you would all make them welcome, I'd appreciate it," Sirius said, as Old Sam entered behind him with a large travelling chest on his shoulders. Since Old Sam was the blacksmith, this didn't raise many eyebrows. Setting it down by the strangers' table, he grinned.

"Nice t' meet ya," he drawled in the wide accent of Texas. "Ah'm Old Sam, Samuel Steele if'n yer of a mind t' git fancy. Ah'm the blacksmith hereabouts, an' this feller here holds a few favours Ah owe 'im. If'n yer in need o' horses or steel, come to me." Smiling broadly, he left, slapping the badge-wearing wizard on the shoulder as he passed.

Sirius sat across from the two of them, looking them over appraisingly. His measuring gaze drank in the little details as he drew both his wand and his gun, placing them on the table in front of them. "Around here, Harry, it's polite, and a good idea, to put your weapons on the table when you're with friends," he said. "I can see that neither of you has a gun, but your wands?"

The young man and woman before him had their faces go blank with anger. "Umbitch snapped them before tossing us into the veil," Harry said, his voice tightly controlled. "That's how I came to think you were alive. If Hermione hadn't told me what happened to you while she was dragging me through... that place, I'd have believed you dead, but we encountered someone who sent us here, and thought maybe that's what happened to you as well." Taking it in turns, the two friends told Sirius about what exactly had happened since he'd fallen through the veil. He did _not_ take it well, growing more and more incensed as their story progressed. When they told him about their deal with the Reaper, however, all that anger deflated.

"So, you'll be going back to Britain eventually, then?" the canine animagus queried, and they nodded in reply. "Then we have to figure out what's going on. How about I bring you up to speed on my side of things, and we can go on from there?" Again receiving nods, Sirius began his own tale.

"When Bella hit me with that spell that pushed me through the Judgement Gate," he said in an even voice, "I recall thinking, 'Well that was stupid of me, wasn't it?' before I went in. First person I saw was your Dad, and he was _not_ happy with me. Then your Mum tore strips off me for a while. Seems they thought I shouldn't have left you with Hagrid, playing into someone else's hands like that. Then they brought their friend in, really pale, black hair and hot... ahem, sorry. She said she could get me to somewhere I'd be able to help you, but there were problems. First, I only get a normal wizarding lifetime, no special deals with time. Second, I would be, and have been, here for five years before you showed up. Finally, I was given a list of things we aren't allowed to change. It was at that point I found myself just outside town, and some fool was pointing a gun at me from ten feet away. I didn't take kindly to that, and hexed him right proper. Turned out be a local gunslinger, some bullyboy going by... what was that name again? Valentine? Called himself 'Liberty', after 'his' town."

Hermione snorted, remembering one of those old western ballads her parents had liked (Would like?) so much. As Harry glanced at her shoulders shaking with laughter, a puzzled expression on his face, Hermione managed to sing out in gasps "The man who shot, Liberty Valence, he shot, Liberty Valence..." before succumbing once more to a fit of chuckling, this time with Harry's own laugh beside her.

* * *

It had several weeks since Sheriff Black's friends had arrived, and the way the two strangers went about town helping folks endeared them to the whole of Liberty Springs. It was obvious to all the townsfolk, even the Sheriff, that there was something between them, no matter that they didn't recognize it themselves. As the weeks had rolled by, some other friends of Sheriff Black had called by, obviously in response to his requests, and gave the youngsters some tips and training. This included shooting, tracking, survival, laws, and a whole library's worth of other skills. The best part, Harry and Hermione felt, was where an Indian medicine man by the name of One Man Bucket came by to supervise a vision quest to allow them to get in touch with their Spirit Beasts. Harry and Maia had reason to find their new names heavily ironic, as they found themselves linked to their animal namesakes.

Harry's wolf form was a large one, easily four feet at the shoulder, covered in black fur, with those emerald-green eyes of his. There was a white bolt of lightning on the wolf's brow, corresponding exactly with the scar.

Hermione, on the other hand, assumed the shape of a large hawk, marked as different by the chocolate-brown eyes and a faint black line that stretched diagonally across her breast, which apparently corresponded with _her_ scar, acquired when Dolohov had cursed her, even though Harry's raw power had healed her.

"I have never seen such youngsters manage this," One Man Bucket had told them. "Now, remember the differences between this and the animagus transformation you newcomers are fond of. You aren't going to get lost in the Beast, and the senses carry over somewhat, but so too do certain attributes the People associate with the animal. Both wolves and hawks mate for life, so be certain of your love before committing. As both are creatures of honour, you must be certain of that honour in all you do." He grinned. That wasn't going to be a problem, he thought. "Be careful, young ones, a great destiny is laid upon you. I see many, many miles and years before you, but remember that the path you choose is _your_ path to tomorrow."

* * *

As Harry holstered the six-guns, having hit every can on the fence, Sirius stepped forwards.

"Not bad for only a month and a half," he said, impressed. "Took me two to get that down, and that was with my wand hand." He grinned. "Good thing you're not ambisinistrous, eh?"

Hermione frowned as she readied her rifle and Sirius returned the cans to their positions. "I've never come across that word, Sirius," she said, "and I read far more than you do. What's it supposed to mean?" Since they'd arrived, the older wizard had been trying to trip them up with the local speech pattern and accent, and every now and then gave them a cobbled together word. The last one had been outsomnia, in every way the reverse of _in_somnia.

"Equally _bad_ with both hands of course. We're just lucky he's the other one." Sirius stepped well back from the fence as Hermione trotted away from it, stopping roughly five times further back than Harry had been. Thanks to her Spirit Beast's eyesight, as well as her almost intuitive ability to calculate angle, wind speed and distance in her head, she was an extremely good shot at longer ranges. Thanks to the way her rifle was made, she was also able to work its lever to spit out a near-literal hail of fire. It was only a matter of seconds before the last can flew from the fence.

"So," she said as she jogged back, "do you think we're ready, yet?"

Sirius chuckled. Their plan had been fairly simple. They needed to be better at fighting, and the best way to manage that was to actually get into fights. Out here in the American West, that meant becoming lawmen (not an option for Maia Hawke), outlaws (which would pit them against Sirius, something they agreed they didn't want, and the same applied to hired gunslingers) or the last option, bounty hunters. All three professions were very dangerous, especially since wands were in very short supply, almost totally unavailable. Neither they nor Sirius could afford one, yet, and all the best wandcrafters were back East... so far East that they were at least as far away as Diagon Alley. The local equivalent, Magic Alley, had none, although they did have a bank that Harry and Hermione were only now becoming familiar with.

Stonebenders was run by dwarves, and when it came to gold and honour, the goblins of Gringotts were nowhere near as professional. No-one could hold a grudge like a dwarf. Their culture was a lot closer to human society than the goblins was, too. The only reason the goblin-run Gringotts was the exclusive bank for magical Britain was that a Minister for Magic during 1631, one Calamitus Malfoy, banned all magical beings other than wizards and witches from wielding wands. By classifying the stocky people as being of 'near-human intelligence', he managed to offend a whole race of beings who could, would and did hold grudges for generations. In addition to the withdrawal of almost every dwarven clan from Britain, they still held a legitimate and fully legal blood feud with the British Malfoys.

The two youngsters now held a joint account that was slowly building their cash resources. Rather than fiddle around with an antiquated and unwieldy monetary system, the dwarves had quite eagerly adopted the dollars and cents of the mundane United States of America, thus avoiding the ridiculous mathematical juggling that was the goblin-mandated galleons, sickles and knuts. For _that _system to make sense, you needed a mind as twisty as a corkscrew. They would be using that account to cover expenses such as ammunition, food and lodging.

Sirius had traded some of his favours with Old Sam to get them their guns, and he'd taught them a modification of the Patronus Charm that summoned up steeds of silver fire. It was during negotiations at Stonebenders that the canine animagus had encountered a most unexpected young woman who was opening an account of her own. Diana Bonamore was a slender blonde witch and enchantress with silvery-grey eyes, and Harry and Hermione couldn't help comparing her to their friend Luna. The personalities were very different, but as they became closer (especially Sirius) they found more similarities than differences. Diana did sometimes stare off into no-where, but where Luna was almost constantly distant and distracted, she was only that way on occasion. For some reason, she really enjoyed the Marauder sheriff's company.

As Hermione and Harry began their new career, Sirius found himself courting the enchantress. The first few 'hunts' they went on, he had them travel with friends he'd made in the past five years, until they'd picked up enough experience to go it alone.

* * *

**2 years on...**

The man in front of Harrison Wolfe, as the world had come to know him, was an ex-Union officer who'd stolen from his own pay wagons and betrayed his soldiers to the confederates. His bounty had been significant, enough to afford a trip to Britain to _finally_ acquire new wands. Then he'd run, all the way to Colorado and the Rockies. It was here that the desperate renegade made an absolutely abysmal mistake. In his flight and fear, he ran into one of the dwarven mines in that area and grabbed the first person he saw for a hostage. The dwarf-maid he'd grabbed happened to be the daughter of the clan-chief of that very mine.

"You're a'gonna let me, go, Wolfe," the renegade yelled, his Colt .45 against the dwarf-girl's cheek. "Jist drop yer guns an' lemme go."

A glance at Hawke was all it took. A plan took form in their minds. They were getting closer and closer that way; even if they hadn't committed completely, they were each aware of their feelings in that direction. No other knew them as well, not even Sirius, who'd finally married Diana just last month. The plan they'd almost conjured up took the form of one of the easiest forms of wandless magic: The Summoning Charm.

Wolfe dropped his six-guns, enchanted ones that conjured their own ammunition, much as Hawke's lever-action rifle did, the enchantments courtesy of the enchantress who was now Diana Black. As the outlaw's pistol lifted from the dwarf-maid's cheek to draw bead on him, Wolfe muttered "_Accio_ hostage!" and caught her, spinning to put his own back between her and the outlaw as he dropped them both to the floor, and as the former officer's pistol lowered to aim, Hawke's rifle snapped out its thunder, taking the outlaw in the shoulder.

The gratitude of a dwarven clan chief is _not_ something to sneeze at. He insisted on rewarding them commensurately for his daughter and successor's life. Two months after they'd returned with the wounded ex-Major Simmons, Wolfe and Hawke received a visitor with a most interesting package...

"Harrison Wolfe, Maia Hawke, the Silvergate clan of Colorado Springs sends greetings and honour to you, and these gifts as _partial_ recompense of the debt we owe." The dwarf's attitude was as close to deferential as dwarves ever got. Unwrapping two boxes, one longer and narrower than the other, he went on. "These weapons are based on your own, but also make use of almost-forgotten lore that is unique to our people. The weapons can function much as your own, but each weapon uses wand-quality wood for the stock and grip, and has a wand-core the length of the barrel." As he spoke, the courier opened the cases, revealing a rifle and two pistols of unique form and design, crafted from a golden metal with the sheen of polished steel, each engraved with subtle runes. "To bond them to you requires a drop of your blood to each grip or stock. These can function as wands for you, or a staff for the rifle, and once bound, will encourage observers to overlook them while holstered." As the two young bounty hunters stood still the dwarf turned and left before they could object.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**__ As the author, I do not own any part of Harry Potter, the world he was written in or the characters therein. All these belong to J. , and I'm just using them to tell a story. The challenge that inspired this story belongs to Whitetigerwolf. Thanks, my friend. I also don't own any references to songs, characters or references involved in the Wild West genre._

_**Chapter 4: The Highway to Now.**_

_**"**__**Are you skipping bits?" Fate asked. His salted popcorn was running low, and he was twitching to continue play. Of course, Destiny and the Lady had both ruled that play could not continue until the pieces had caught up to the time they were actually playing in. Fate had to admit he could see the sense in that. It was hard to keep the game going when they couldn't see the pieces interact due to the twisted tangle of time that the time-tossed heroes were more or less shielded by.**_

_**"**__**Of course I am," the Lady answered. "We have to cover the high points of their extra century, but we don't have to sit there for the boring bits."**_

_**Destiny chuckled. "Hang on," he said, "I have to roll here for some reason... A six? That's good, and another one! Alright, you're going to like this bit when the full impact hits."**_

_**The Lady raised an eyebrow. "What have you set in motion, and how far ahead are you planning?" Her voice made a mid-winter blizzard in Antarctica seem positively tropical.**_

_**"**__**If I tell you it'll ruin the surprise," the power that represented happy endings said. "But I can give you a Hint. Alchemy."**_

_**"**__**Ohh, now this I have to see..." the Lady turned back to reality.**_

* * *

**1899: The Yukon.**

"Are you sure he came this way, Wolfe?" The woman known as Hawke asked her partner. After four years of working together, they'd realised that no-one else was ever going to understand them. They only had a couple more years before they stopped aging, according to their deal with the Reaper, and then they'd have to keep moving around to stop people noticing. "I mean, the little side-winder was supposed to have died back at that bridge by all the books _I_ ever read."

Wolfe admitted to himself that this was quite a number of books indeed, but their target was a madman who had decided cannibalism was preferable to death. Unfortunately, this had tangled him up in the curse the locals called Wendigo. It allowed him to defy what most people considered common limits, while eroding his sanity further and further, turning him from a man to a monster. Now they had to find him before he reached a more populated area. "Yeah, the stench of his dietary habits is really thick over here. Almost too thick..." As he stepped forwards into a gap between two trees, the Wendigo dropped from above him, barely caught by the throat as Wolfe spun. His sharper hearing and sense of smell allowing him that much at least, but he was still borne to the ground from the impact, struggling against the cursed man-eater.

Hawke brought up the rifle the dwarves had gifted her, and whispered the spell she needed to it. "Reducto." She sighted, drew in breath, and aimed, stroking the trigger as she exhaled, just as Old Man Tanner had taught her. The 'bullet' flew across the distance to her target and struck the head as the ghoulish madman raised it to pull free of Wolfe's grip, and the Wendigo's head simply... went away. Loudly. Spraying gore and grey matter across the clearing.

Rushing over to her best friend and partner for the last eight years, Maia Hawke, formerly Hermione Granger, helped him to stand. As he did, she realised exactly how close she had come to losing him, and what it meant to her that she knew she'd have followed him into the final darkness in a heartbeat.

For his part, Harrison Wolfe, who was once Harry Potter, looked into the fearful eyes of the young woman who'd been with him through thick and thin, and knew he had to say something. Neither one of them expected what he actually said, though.

"Maia Hawke, will you marry me?"

* * *

**Six weeks later...**

Sirius and Diana Black stood watching as the town of Liberty Springs celebrated the marriage of the two best bounty hunters they'd ever seen. Maia Hawke was keeping her name for business purposes, she said, after all, Wolfe and Hawke sounded much more intimidating than Wolfe and Wolfe. Sirius had been overjoyed to give the bride away _and_ stand as Best Man. His two year old twins had even been part of the ceremony with Corvus Remus as the ring-bearer while his sister Lyra Aquila served as flower-girl. The usual speeches and reception took place and everyone was having a right good time when a group of bandits rode into the yard and screamed "REACH FOR THE SKY!"

After a moment or two of absolute silence. Wolfe stood.

"You boys _must_ be new in these parts," he said, in a quiet yet commanding voice. "This here is Liberty Springs. Home of Sheriff Sirius Black, known as the Law-dog, the Man who shot Liberty Valence, and the bounty hunters Wolfe and Hawke." As the bandits heard these names, they shivered, and Harrison Wolfe smiled as his bride brought her rifle from its sling and he himself drew his six-guns lazily. The smile was not comforting, it was glacial. "Now, guess whose wonderful wedding day you boys just rode into."

The clatter of guns hitting the dirt was nigh on deafening.

* * *

_**1901...**_

Hawke landed, shaking out her feathers as she resumed her human form. " Found it," she declared, holding back laughter.

"Really, already?" They'd been contacted by the Federation of Magical American States and Territories to locate the body of the giant called Paul Bunyan. There were tall tales and legends about the near-hundred-foot-tall lumberjack, they really didn't want the muggles to confirm his existence. "Where is he?"

"That 'fallen tree' you're sitting on? That's his thigh."

* * *

_**1914...**_

"So what'd you think, Hawke?" Wolfe asked his wife.

"That was a wonderful anniversary gift, Wolfe, but if I have to listen to Mr Clemens tell me the story about that frog one more time..." She hunched her shoulders inwards. "At least we weren't dropped in Shakespeare's time, I'm sure I'd never have survived the disappointment."

Sirius chuckled. He was getting old quickly, the will to live draining out of him when Diana had passed on the previous winter from tuberculosis. Even the twins were barely enough reason for the 'Old Law-dog' to keep getting out of bed in the mornings, and they kept looking to their unofficial siblings for guidance. Corvus was apprenticed, and showed signs of becoming a good blacksmith, and Lyra made an excellent teacher for the little ones around Liberty Springs. There wasn't much else to do, and Wolfe and Hawke had noticed comments on how young they still looked. It was time to move on.

"Look out for him, Hermione," Sirius croaked, his throat raw from grief and too much whiskey. "You know he's going to need you. And pup, you look out for her. Look on the bright side, Harry. You'll have all the time you need to grieve."

Hawke forced herself to smile. By this time next month, the First World War would hit Europe, and she and her husband intended to be out there fighting it. They couldn't do any less, and still be true to themselves. As their old friend, Harry's dog-father as he's joked several times, drifted off to sleep, Harry caught the last words Sirius would ever say. "Diana, so you _did_ wait for me..."

* * *

_**1916...**_

"So whose bright idea was it to go hunting through Russia in the middle of Winter?" Hawke muttered, knowing full well it had been hers. This Rasputin's unnatural vitality sounded entirely too much like a certain Dark Lord she and Wolfe had known to let them leave it be. As Wolfe plunged through a snowdrift, breaking trail for her to drag the Russian sorcerer's corpse to a place they could dispose of him permanently, she wished for not the last time that she'd been the one blessed with a thick warm coat of fur...

* * *

_**1926...**_

Hawke paused before lying down. "Are you sure, Harry?" she asked. "Can we really live solely in the Shadows for the next seventy years?"

Wolfe nodded. "We have to Maia," he replied. "We have to watch, and spy, and not do anything that may change things. We can't touch the major players, and that's going to hurt the most. But we can hit the minions and cronies, and even some of the bigger ones as they become available. The details on the LeStranges' capture, for example are decidedly murky. You remember what Nicholas said when you told about the twelfth use for Dragonsblood."

Hawke smiled, recalling the day in question clearly. "While it can be used as an oven cleaner," she had pointed out when a _much _younger Dumbledore had suggested the possibility, "it would be analogous to using dynamite to clean your toilet."

It would be a long time before anyone would encounter Wolfe and Hawke again..


End file.
